


Patron Saint of Lost Causes

by MrSpears



Category: Leverage
Genre: Catholic Guilt, I'm new to this fandom don't hate me, M/M, Oral, bitter Nathan, blowjob, hnnng, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24527302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSpears/pseuds/MrSpears
Summary: Nathan Ford sees himself as a lost cause who cannot pull away from the allure of his addiction. Eliot Spencer sees something very different. A night together may not be what Nathan needs for a full recovery, but it sure makes for a nice distraction.
Relationships: Nathan Ford/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Patron Saint of Lost Causes

For some reason, it always came back to this. 

Nathan couldn’t remember the last time he had touched a drink. Well, touched – he had done that. He had passed around bottles of beer. He had held a glass half a second or two longer than anyone else might have before leaving it on the counter and walking away. Smelled? The aroma was comforting. A bouquet of spices unknown to any candle or perfume in the world. Had he seen droplets on the rim of a freshly poured glass and thought, what the hell, just a little? Had he thought about running his tongue along the rim, collecting just a taste, just enough to cover his tongue? Well, sure. He had thought about it. 

He wanted it close. A child with a well-loved blankie. When he pulled his hands back from a cup, a bottle, his fingers were always slightly damp with sweat from the glass. He was stained by his sins, whether he knocked the drink back or not. Wiping his hands off on his pants only spread the sin around. Looking at the drink made him feel dirty. 

And he liked feeling that way. He couldn’t help but feel like he was running from the warm bosom of the very thing that sharpened his edge. With the drink he was just a little more ruthless, a little more unhinged. He had better ideas. He was willing to take more risks. The drink cleared his mind by washing away the guilt and the memories that were constantly resurfacing, haunting his brain. He wanted them gone. A little drop of bourbon, old fashioned, was all he needed to send those bad memories gliding away. 

God. He was really losing it. Nathan could tell he was sweating. He lifted his hand and wiped at his temples and his forehead. The salty sweat stung a dozen small cuts on his palm that he had not even been aware he had. He slicked his hair back; it felt oily. He had just showered that morning, not that anyone could tell. 

His bedroom door opened and he didn’t even look up. A finger of whiskey sat in front of him, smug. He had seen that before. His hands were trembling with how badly he wanted to cave. 

A knee made the mattress dip. Nathan looked up. He was worried about the glass toppling, but a rough hand swept it up before it could go anywhere and set it on the bedside table. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eliot asked. His voice was rough. There was still a cut above his eyebrow from where someone had slammed their fist earlier that day. 

“No,” it was late and Nathan didn’t have anything to say. All of his words were old, tired. At least the whiskey didn’t talk back. 

“Hm,” Eliot let the silence hang there for a minute. Nathan could not look him in the eye. He focused on the soft cranberry colored shirt his team member was wearing instead. His soft brown hair fell in large waves around his shoulders, save for a few braided sections along the sides. 

Nathan wiped at the corners of his mouth. “Did you need something?” 

“I just, um,” Eliot wasn’t good with words. He leaned back enough to shove his hands down into his jean pockets, digging around until he pulled out a long silver chain. Not a surprise, Eliot always wore and carried around a lot of jewelry. Nathan wasn’t sure what he expected. He had a hard time realizing what Eliot was holding up until the hitter flicked the chain his way. “Here.” 

Nathan caught it. It was the token of a saint. St. Jude. 

“Where did this come from?” Nathan asked. 

“Some guy pressed it into my hand before I knocked him unconscious. Tried to say something, I don’t know what. It creeped me out, but I thought you should have it.” 

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you.” Nathan wasn’t sure if he sounded as sarcastic as he meant to be. “I wonder why he thought you needed help from the patron saint of lost causes.” 

“Sounds like he just calls ‘em as he sees ‘em,” Eliot said. “But I don’t think I’m the kind of lost cause a saint can do anything about.” 

“Neither am I.” Nathan sighed. He pressed his palm against his face with one hand and rubbed at the engraving with his fingers from the other. “Oh, well.” 

“So are you going to tell me what that was about?” Eliot gestured to the drink. Nathan looked at the whiskey as if he had not seen it before. 

“Just having a talk,” he said, “with an old friend.” 

“How about a real live talk with a new one?” Eliot’s posture was relaxed, one knee drawn up and his arm resting on it. But he still looked like he would spring on Nathan and wrestle him to the ground if the disheveled man took even one swipe at that drink. 

“Are we friends?” Nathan sounded bitter. That was one thing he realized about himself – he was bitter. At the core and all the way around. 

A hint of a dry smile pulled at the corners of Eliot’s mouth. “You think I’m only good for busting heads.” 

“Not necessarily.” 

“There are plenty times you held me back from doing worse.” 

That was true. “You rush into things.” 

“And you’re the master manipulator. Right?” 

“Well,” Nathan kept fingering the pendant. “I see things you don’t.” 

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Eliot picked up the glass from the table. “You’re looking out for all of us. Who is looking out for you?” 

Nathan didn’t have anything to say to that. His eyes followed the glass. 

“Exactly,” Eliot held up the glass. “You see things. You understand things. But you don’t have eyes in the back of your head. Someone has to stand behind you. Someone has to hit the things you don’t see.” 

“So, what do you mean?” Nathan couldn’t help a dry little scoff. “Are you there to hold off my demons?” 

Eliot finally caught his eyes. Nathan could not look away. 

“Nate,” the hitter finally said, his voice an octave lower and a bit softer, “you can’t do it on your own.” 

“No shit,” Nathan said, breathless. He reached out to take the drink from Eliot’s hands, but Eliot pulled it back. 

“It used to be God.” Nathan looked down at the pendant in his hand. _Used to be._ Now it was Eliot. Eliot and God – God and Eliot. They were not one and the same. God never held up his end of the deal. 

Eliot… 

Nathan slipped the chain around his neck and let the pendant thump against his chest. “How does it look?” He tried to change the subject. 

“Like it fits,” Eliot knocked the whiskey back and set the empty glass down on the floor. Nathan could see a shiny wet line on the hitter’s bottom lip. 

“Bravo,” Nathan said flatly. “Now I have to get another.” 

“Or find a distraction.” Eliot shifted his weight so that more of him was on the bed. Nathan’s breath was stuck in his chest. 

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck. Some of his dark curls were stuck to his skin. “There’s always sports.” 

Eliot rested his hands easily on his lap. “For sure,” he said. He leaned forward a little as he spoke, never taking his eyes off the man across from him. Nathan could not stop looking at Eliot’s mouth, thinking about chasing the whiskey that just passed between those firm lips. 

Nathan felt cold. Chill bumps rose up on his skin. Without giving it much thought, because thinking too much would ruin it, he leaned forward and grabbed the sides of Eliot’s face. He dug his fingers into the hitter’s thick brown hair and used the grip to propel him the rest of the way forward. Nathan kissed him, pushing his tongue past the barrier of Eliot’s lips. He expected it to only last a few seconds, followed by a well-deserved black eye. 

Eliot’s hand came up and Nathan didn’t flinch; but to his surprise, he felt it land against the back of his head, and Eliot opened his mouth a little wider for Nathan’s tongue. Nathan made a surprised sound, but he didn’t pull back. He moved his hands down from Eliot’s hair to his stocky shoulders. Eliot’s hand shifted to the back of Nathan’s neck and he cradled the leader’s head as he shifted his weight forward, pushing against Nathan’s hands and sending him down onto his back. 

Nathan pulled back long enough to try and catch his breath. He looked up at the roof above his head – _what the hell am I doing?_ Eliot’s tongue was soaked with alcohol. His kiss burned. Nathan’s chest was tight like a hand had been wrapped around his heart. St. Jude thudded against his chest – suddenly feeling like a two-ton weight. 

Eliot planted another kiss against Nathan’s throat, his tongue sliding over a beating jugular. “I’ll stop right here,” Eliot said in a gruff whisper, “or I’ll keep going. Up to you.” 

“Fuck,” Nathan slid a hand down his face. “I mean, fuck. Keep going.” He had no idea what he was doing. He wasn’t even sure if it was Eliot or the faint taste of whiskey that had him half-erect in his pants. 

Eliot nodded. “If you decide, you know, something else just say so.” He started kissing down Nathan’s chest, unbuttoning each tiny black button that led down to his waistband. He laid the shirt open, moving back up to land his kisses against Nathan’s bare chest. On his way back down, he tugged at Nathan’s waistband and used both strong hands to pull them down. Nathan felt dizzy. Sure, he had been with men before – but way back – seminary school. It had been pretty common; what else was there to do? And he had never been with a man like Eliot, whose hand were weapons – rough and calloused with a dozen scars across the knuckles. Nathan pulled his legs up long enough to help kick off his pants. Eliot tossed them aside. Now Nathan was on his back, exposed completely, his shirt hanging open and his pants and underwear crumpled on the floor. He was still only partially hard, and he felt the need to apologize for not giving Eliot much to work with. He kept it to himself, though, no need to embarrass himself further. 

Eliot touched his hips, using his strength to shift Nathan in a position that he liked. Despite being the team’s hitter, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Nathan swallowed hard and closed his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath as he felt Eliot’s tongue trail up the underside of his cock. 

Eliot looked up and cocked a half-smile. He licked Nathan’s length again, this time opening his mouth to take the leader’s cock balls and all. Nathan let out a cry and Eliot held his hips with care, sucking still. He bobbed his head up and down a little, his tongue working his mouthful of mostly soft, tender flesh. He could feel Nathan hardening up on his tongue and eventually pulled back a little, opening his mouth and putting his tongue back into play stroking, then back to sucking. He felt a little flash of victory when he slid off the tip of Nathan’s cock and took a moment to observe it in all its glory – rock hard and curving upward to smack its purple head against his belly. Eliot grabbed it by the base, pulling it back towards him and taking it into his mouth. He sucked greedily, wanting it all. He had waited a long goddamn time for this, and felt encouraged by the low, soft moans he was pulling from Nathan’s throat. 

The leader rolled his hips. He couldn’t help it. It just felt so goddamn good. He set his hand on the back of Eliot’s hand encouraged him down further, thrusting up into his mouth at the same time. He felt the head of his cock hit the back of Eliot’s throat and shit, that was bliss. Eliot didn’t even choke. He adjusted his angle and took Nathan’s cock down to the base, squeezing his balls and teasing the little space behind them. Nathan’s eyes flew open and he let out another gasp. He bucked his hips again and Eliot let out a rush of breath through his nose, a stifled laugh. Eliot started sliding his mouth up and down Nathan’s cock again, this time chasing each stroke with his hand, matching the rhythm. The up and down was almost too much. Nathan felt like he was going to burst, but it didn’t feel right releasing into Eliot’s mouth where the whiskey had just been. One sin chasing another. 

“Eliot…” Nathan did not dare say his name too loudly. He was suddenly very aware of the other people in the house. “Eliot I’m…” 

Eliot looked up and raised his eyebrows, but he did not stop sucking. Nathan was getting desperate. Sweat was beading his brow again – why was it so ungodly hot in his room?

“Mm…Eliot…” he did not want it stop. He could let Eliot go on forever. “Shit. Fuck. Umm…mmm…Eliot!” Nathan threw a hand over his mouth to force himself back down to a reasonable volume before trying to speak again. “It’s been…a really long time Eliot and I’m…not going to last…shit!” He buried his fingers in the hitter’s hair, gripping it at the root and tugging. It didn’t take much – Eliot pulled off his cock with the insistence, his lips giving up suction on the angry head with a wet popping sound. That final tug from Eliot’s mouth was all he needed. Nathan felt his orgasm erupt before he could stop himself. He pressed on the back of Eliot’s head at the same time, bringing him down enough so that the heavy stream of his pleasure hit Eliot in the face. 

“Goddamn it,” Nathan pulled back, mortified. Eliot didn’t seem bothered. He sat up, the undeniable evidence of Nathan’s pleasure on his face and dripping down his cheek. “I didn’t mean that.” Nathan said before clamping his jaw shut. Stupid thing to say. 

Eliot cocked an eyebrow. “Wonder what would happen if you did.” He finally wiped at his face, unbothered and using the sleeve of his shirt. 

“I only – I should have asked.” Nathan’s cock was going soft again and hanging limply between his legs, a physical manifestation of his shame. For all that, it was still flushed and throbbing – damn it, he felt good. “Do you – want me to do the same for you?” It had been years, _decades,_ since he had a cock in his mouth. But he was willing. 

Eliot didn’t respond. He stretched out next to Nathan and put his hands behind his head, keeping his side open for the leader to curl into. Nathan didn’t tuck himself all the way in, but he did move a bit closer. Eliot smelled like cologne, like blood, and like dirt on a warehouse floor. 

“I’m good,” Eliot finally said. “Maybe later.” 

“Sure,” the idea that Eliot might stay longer than the next five minutes eased some of the ache in his chest. Nathan absolutely hated being alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt someone occupying the other side of the bed. 

Several minutes past. They lay together in silence. 

“You know,” Nathan finally said, “St. Jude is also the patron saint of desperate cases.” 

“Are you a desperate case?” Eliot rolled his hips a little to get more comfortable. 

“Seems like it,” Nathan shut his eyes. “Did I come across as desperate?” 

“No,” Eliot said. “Hungry, maybe.” 

“Like an untamed beast.” Nathan groused. 

Eliot slipped his hand into Nathan’s hair and tugged on his curls. Nathan made a sound but did not say anything else, choosing instead to enjoy the peace and the silence – interrupted only by Eliot’s breathing.


End file.
